“And talking over coffee is always free.” I gave her a hug before leaving the library.
Seth wasn’t in his office. He must have been out on a story. Either that or visiting his friend on Gael Island. The disappointment I felt as I gazed through the window of his empty office caught me by surprise.
I took refuge from the rain in the pub. They were busy preparing for the lunch crowd. I settled down by the fire with a hot cup of coffee. Not the best in town, but it would do on a rainy summer’s day. Pen took a break from her routine and joined me for a few minutes.
“Settling in, are you, luv?” she asked, throwing her tea towel over her shoulder as she sat down beside me. She was wearing a pair of plaid wool pants which seemed to be her trademark.
“I’m trying to, Pen. You wouldn’t happen to know where I can buy some clay on this island, would you?”
“Indeed, north end of the island. There’s a pottery studio. Run by Army and Navy.”
“Excuse me?”
She chuckled. “Army is short for Armistad, and Navy is short for Nadia. A bit of a stretch, but cute.”
“Unusual.”
“Oh, they’re definitely unusual.”
“Do they have a kiln?”
“Indeed they do. And, if you tell them Pen sent you and that you’re Winnie Wainwright’s niece, they’ll welcome you with open arms.”
“How refreshing.”
She patted my hand. “Are things getting any better?”
“Oh, yes. I’ve met some lovely people actually. It’s just that—”
“You won’t rest easy until you’ve solved the mystery of the buried bones.”
“Exactly. Pen, tell me about my aunt. What was she like when you first knew her?”
“The same as she was when you knew her, I would think. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know. I’ve just been reading some of her diaries and she seemed different back then. Actually most of them were written when she was in her early twenties, before you knew her too.”
“Perhaps she changed over the years. But I can’t imagine her ever not being the willful, strong-spirited, passionate artist we knew and loved.”
“Something we’ll probably never know.”
“Unfortunately, she’s not here to ask.” Pen twisted her towel around her finger.
“No, but someone who knew her is,” I said.
“If you’re thinking of Sally Beacon or even Myrtle Ormsby, I doubt they really knew her.”
“No, I’m not thinking of them,” I said as I excused myself and headed for the bar where Alistair had sat down.
Pen stopped me. “The old gent? He knew your aunt?”
“That he did, and quite well, I believe.” I put my finger to my lips, indicating that this information was for her ears only. I laughed as I walked away from Pen’s look of astonishment.
“Good morning to you, Jenny,” Alistair said as I climbed onto the stool beside his.
“And a lovely morning it is,” I said with the slight Scottish brogue I had inherited from Charlie.
“For those of us who are rain lovers.”
“Was my aunt one of those?” I asked.
“Now what makes you ask that?”
“I’m just wondering if she loved the rain back when you knew her.”
He didn’t have to think very long. “Oh, aye, she did that. She loved working when it rained. The rain seemed to soothe her soul, kept her painting for hours.”
“Tell me something else about her, Alistair. Did she have a more frivolous side, almost like a silly school girl, or was she always the wise woman I knew?”
He blushed. The eighty plus year old man actually blushed. “Perhaps a bit of both. I think she knew she was wise beyond her years, but on occasion she was known to behave in a silly manner, at least around me, she was.” He laughed self-consciously.
My mind flashed on the date December 12, 1949, in one of my aunt’s diaries when she was hating the rain and longing for her love to come to her. “Did you ever stay on the island through December, Alistair?”
“Oh, no, I don’t believe so. I was always here in the spring and sometimes the summer. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.” So there had been another love in my aunt’s life, at the same time. There was no reason to tell him that.
Of course she had every right to love as many men as she chose, especially considering that this man was only a seasonal visitor to the island. Still, I was a romantic and wanted to believe that he was the one true love of her life. Or at least I wanted his belief of that to remain intact.
“So, are you ready to tell me your story now?” I asked.
“And what story might that be?”
“The one where you left and didn’t come back to the island until now.”
“Oh, that one.”
“Aye, that one.”
“It’s not really that glamorous of a story. Merely a tale of confusion and uncertainty.”
“Uncertainty? Were you unsure of my aunt’s love?”
“That and other things.”
“She did love you. I know she did.”
He let go of the cup of tea that was warming his hands, and looked at me in the mirror behind the bar. “And how would you know that, my dear?”
I did not mention that she had not painted his portrait. For all I knew, she had. Perhaps she had removed it because of another love in her life. Or perhaps she had, for some reason, destroyed it.
“She wrote about you in her diaries,” I told him.
“Did she now? And what did she say?”
“How much she missed you when you were not here and how she loved you so.”
His raised eyebrow reflected his doubt.
“She called you a dancer in the garden, a poet,” I continued.
His eyebrow relaxed.
“The animals trusted you, she said. They saw the purest essence of your soul, just as she did.”
He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. He had loved her as much as she had loved him. And I didn’t buy for one minute that he didn’t know she loved him. There was something he wasn’t telling me. Another time perhaps. I had to believe that he would be ready to confide his whole story at some point, before he left again.
“Alistair, how long do you think you’ll be staying on the island?”
“I dinna ken. A while longer, I should think. Why do you ask, dear?”
“When it’s the right time, I’d like you to spread Winnie’s ashes with me.”
“Oh, aye, I would like that very much. Thank you, Jenny. How will you know when it’s the right time?”
“I think we’ll both know,” I said.
* * *
My life was finally moving forward. I had set up the tiny den in the back of the house to accommodate my counseling practice, and had actually had three sessions. Two with Roxie, and one with Sasha. I had ordered a new wheel, ventured up island to meet Army and Navy and to buy a supply of clay. And I had put away Winnie’s hat boxes filled with diaries and letters. I had kept only one out. It was a letter from me to my aunt, telling her how much I missed her. I had written it when I was twelve years old, during that dismal period after my mother had stopped allowing us to visit my aunt and before I had moved in with Charlie.
Summer was on its way out, and I was cherishing every minute of the approaching autumn that I knew would be over all too soon. I had made another trip down to Seattle with the promise that I would not talk business after the initial updating of events. I spent three lovely days with my son and my father. And MacGregor had taken me out for the dinner he had promised me.
It had turned out to be the highlight of my holiday. I was convinced of that when I realized that I was still thinking about it three days later. I suggested the Shamrock and Thistle but he insisted on something a bit more elegant. We had dined by candlelight, classical jazz music played by a pianist in the background. Not my usual style, but MacGregor had insisted I deserved a lovely night out.
“Feeling guilty, are you, MacGregor?” I had asked him.
“And why should I?”
“Because you’ve been home from Scotland for over a month and you haven’t made it up to the island.”
“Sorry, McNair.” I had to admit that I liked that he still called me by my last name just as he had when he was my professor. Made me feel young, I suppose. “I meant to come see you,” he said.
“But you got busy.”
“Aye, always that. And I hear you’ve been as well. So, tell me how you’re doing since—”
“The divorce?”
“Aye.”
“Actually, I’ve been so preoccupied with this unsolved case that I’ve not given it much thought.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Possibly.” I was all for venting and releasing and conscious healing, but distraction worked too.
“And you’ve moved on?”
How did he know that? “What did Charlie tell you?”
“Oh, he just mentioned that you were spending some time with the local newspaperman.”
Me and my big mouth. I should have known better than to tell Charlie about Seth.
MacGregor looked at me with a questioning look. I had neglected to answer his question.
“Whaat?”
He laughed. “You’re blushing, McNair.”
“Not so.”
“Aye, ‘tis so.”
“Okay, so I’ve been out on a few dates.”
He stopped laughing.
“What’s wrong?”
“Just be careful, will you now?”
“I’m always careful.”
“Are you?”
“Of course.” But I knew what he was thinking. If I’d been careful, I would not have married Joe Campbell.
I sighed. “I’m okay, MacGregor. You needn’t worry about me.”
“I’ll always worry about you, McNair.”
That statement might have bothered me if I hadn’t been so flattered by it.
“Hey, daydreamer.”
I looked up from my fixed gaze upon the water that reflected MacGregor’s concerned face in my memory. Sasha was walking down the beach toward me, her thick curly red hair even more frizzy than usual.
“I thought I was alone.”
“I could tell. I’ve been waving at you for five minutes.”
“Sorry.”
“Good thoughts, I hope.”
“Quite nice. So how are you doing?”
“You mean, have I been working on the assignment you gave me? I’ve been doing very well. I’ve done some early morning journaling every day for a week.”
“Excellent. And—?”
“And, I’m beginning to see some definite patterns around fear of engulfment. I think I’ve sabotaged every relationship I’ve had with a man because I’m afraid of having to give up who I am.”
“That was fast.”
“Must come from having a therapist for a mother,” she chuckled. “So, am I cured?”
I laughed and motioned for her to join me on my rock. “Now we get to dig deep—oops, let’s try for a different metaphor. Now we need to go back into your past, find the root of the patterns, and release them.”
“Ugh. Sounds like work.”
“Well worth it.”
“If you say so. What’s up with you, oh, wise counselor?”
“Not a lot.” I was staring past her into the distant forest of trees that stood between her cottage and mine. “Hey, have you ever seen anyone coming or going from the lighthouse?”
She turned and looked in the direction of my gaze. Then she looked up at the lighthouse. “I’ve seen someone walking along the beach here on occasion. Actually, now that you mention it, they did seem to be coming from the lighthouse.”
“How often?”
“Oh, five, maybe six times over the past year.”
“Any idea who it is?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t think much of it at the time. Assumed it was someone out for a stroll along the water. But I’ll keep an eye out from now on.”
“Thanks.”
“You worried?”
“Not really. Just curious. I can’t help thinking whoever it is may be revisiting the scene of the crime.” Apparently I was still in that place of thinking everything and everyone had something to do with the buried bones.
* * *
It would have surprised me, running into them, if I hadn’t been thinking about Lilly so much lately. A picture of her holding a lei, sitting at the bakery cafe sipping tea, kept popping into my mind.
She wasn’t as fragile as everyone seemed to think she was. Of course, what did I know? I’d barely met the woman. Yet I trusted my intuition on this one. The quiet strength behind the man, the anchor of a family that had survived a tragedy. Why was I the only one who seemed to see that?
They were sitting on the park bench with her, the bench where Alistair and I had visited more than once. When her daughters saw me walking towards them, their faces tightened and their shoulders braced for an attack. Eleanor’s short gray hair was flying free in the autumn breeze. Thanks to super gel, Daisy’s remained intact.
When Lilly made a move to stand up, Daisy’s right hand and Eleanor’s left, shot out of their positions like darts clamping their mother into position. She didn’t question her daughters’ sanity which well she might have. Instead, she remained seated on the bench between them, trusting their judgment over her own, or at least letting them believe that.
What was she thinking, I wondered. Did she realize they were trying to protect her from me, or did she assume they were simply telling her it wasn’t time to leave the park yet.
I didn’t do it maliciously, at least I hoped I didn’t, but a tiny part of me confessed that I might have done. Rather than stop at the fountain or seat myself on a serene bench out of their view, I kept right on walking towards the threesome. I suppose it was that mischievous part of me that was curious to see their reaction to the fact that their mother and I were actually acquainted that made me do it.
“Well, hello there Eleanor and Daisy.”
They grunted a reluctant greeting and looked away as though that were my cue to leave.
“And Lilly, it’s lovely to see you again,” I continued. But my focus was not on the older woman. It was on her two daughters whose mouths dropped open simultaneously.
“Hello, Jenny, it’s lovely to see you too. So, you’ve met my girls?”
“Oh, yes. The first day I arrived on the island. You could say they were my welcoming committee.”
She looked at them with pride, while I looked at them with a single raised eyebrow. They smiled sweetly, just like two little girls anxious to please their mother, confirming my belief in Lilly’s strength.
“Please join us, will you?” She motioned for her girls to scoot down on the bench, but neither of them budged an inch.
“Actually we’re about to leave, dear,” Eleanor said.
“Yes, remember, we’re going to take you for an ice cream.”
“Oh, yes.” Lilly freed herself from her daughters’ grips, and stood up. They stood up just as quickly. “Would you like to join us, Jenny?”
“Oh, I’m sure she has plans of her own,” Daisy said.
“Actually, ice cream sounds—”
“Extremely fattening,” Eleanor said, raising an eyebrow as she scanned my figure. And here I thought I’d finally trimmed down enough to indulge myself in a single scoop.
Daisy slid her arm through her mother’s and turned her away from me. Eleanor jumped at the opportunity to make her prior glare look like a friendly wink. “You stay away from our mother,” she mouthed in near silence, her look becoming more scathing with every syllable. “Do I make myself clear?”
I ignored her and walked past her toward the twosome that was hurrying across the stone path.
“You didn’t let me say good-bye to Jenny,” Lilly protested.
“Oh, don’t worry, Eleanor sai
d good-bye for all of us,” Daisy assured her.
But Lilly Ewell would only put up with so much from her children. She yanked her arm out of Daisy’s and stopped in her tracks. She turned and smiled at me just as I was coming up beside her.
“It was lovely to see you again, dear.”
I reached out and took her hand. “And it was lovely to see you, Lilly.”
Satisfied that she had not been impolite, she turned and led her daughters out of the park. Despite their rudeness and even despite their fear, they had not succeeded in driving me from this island nor from their mother. Rather, the one thing they had succeeded in doing was convincing me that Lilly Ewell was very possibly the key to solving this murder. They also had made me realize just how much power I had over them.
Chapter 18
Myrtle Ormsby paid me a visit on Saturday afternoon. At first I thought that since the post office was closed, she was simply looking for company. But when, after a half hour of chit chat, she started talking about Winnie and her gardener love, I realized the sweet old woman had a hidden agenda.
“What are you thinking, Myrtle?”
“Well, remember the day we superimposed the skeleton over the photograph of the gardener? You knew it wouldn’t match, didn’t you?”
“I suspected.”
“Now, why was that, dear?”
“I— Just a feeling.”
She scooted closer to me on the couch as if to see me better. “Are you sure that’s all it was?”
I uhummed noncommittally.
“Well, if you’re sure.” She released a deep sigh.
I tried really hard not to ask her what was wrong, but “What is it?” slipped out between my lips as though the words had a will of their own.
“I was just hoping that maybe you realized something.”
This time I controlled my mouth better. I didn’t say a word.
“I was hoping you realized that maybe Alistair Jeffries is still alive.”
My left eyebrow shot up like a dart. Still I remained silent.
“Was that it, dear? Did you realize that he’s still alive?”
How could I lie? Yet how could I tell the truth? Alistair had not given me permission to divulge his secret.
I resorted to one of Charlie’s tactics. “Do you think he’s still alive, Myrtle?”
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